


Storms to Safety

by charlidoodle



Category: NCIS, SLIBBS - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25832866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlidoodle/pseuds/charlidoodle
Summary: After a difficult case, it's Sloane's turn to push Gibbs away. That lasts about an hour, until they have a phone call that sends Gibbs running her way.
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 21
Kudos: 110





	Storms to Safety

**Author's Note:**

> I mostly put things in italics when I want to display a thought of a character. Please let me know if that's confusing! Alsooo I feel like I'm running around the same plot line of hurt/comfort after a case, sorry if that's super annoying. Alsoooooo someone please tell me why I put rain in everything. Okay that's all, I hope you enjoy :)

The rain greeted the team just as they were wrapping up the loose ends of the case, also known as the dreaded paperwork. Each agent was stuck in their own head, the weight of the week pressing on each of them a little bit differently. They were use to Gibbs being on edge during a case, hell they were all on edge when they learned the suicide of the petty officer they were investigating was quite possibly the result of being brutally raped by a superior officer days before. Those kinds of details will never sit well with any of them, but they especially won’t sit well now that Jack is by their side. Jack takes every case seriously, she’s got a heart that attaches on to every story and every person within it. She filled the hole that Gibbs had so tirelessly worked to keep empty. But this case was different, she was different. She was almost Gibbs-like. This would have been less of an issue if Gibbs consequentially became Sloane-like, but unfortunately the team was faced with Gibbs times two. Both of them shared a new level of laser focus, almost as if they discovered a new wave length when they both jumped off the deep end hand in hand. Sloane, the mother who harked on her “children” constantly to ensure they were eating wholesome meals and getting their rest, had barely eaten since Monday and certainly hadn’t slept. The glow she presented the team with every morning was dim and it sent most of the team into a blind search through the darkness. Gibbs, though still Gibbs-like, was completely aware of the new team dynamic and attempted to pick up some of the slack. He shooed the team out once the clock hit 01:00 each day. He physically walked each of them to the elevator and made sure they were clear that he didn’t want to see them until 08:00 the following morning unless a lead was found. He brought coffee in the morning and did a silent checkin with each special agent before getting the day started. It was no Jack-style interrogation, but it was meaningful. He was making an effort. His last checkin was always Jack, as it became apparent she wasn’t leaving her office at night. One day he was even caught with a change of clothes tucked under his arm when he was making his trip up the stairs, all while gripping an ungodly sweet latte in his hand. 

Catching the bad guy always brought peace to the team, it was the end goal after all. But again, the energy was different tonight. The rain beat down against the window panels that gave the team a view past the naval base. The sound was almost therapeutic, almost. It could have been completely and utterly soothing if the tension wasn’t so electric. Gibbs hadn’t looked down at his papers in at least 30 minutes. His eyes were glued to the storm outside and it seemed almost as if he was determined he could make it stop if he starred hard enough. Maybe that was his philosophy with most things though? Work hard enough and the case will be solved. Hide well enough and maybe no one will ever notice the pain. Yell loud enough and maybe all the problems in front of him would shut up. Unfortunately, just like the raging storm outside, the storm that was Jack Sloane was going to continue to rage with or without his piercing gaze. 

\- - - - - - - 

“Go home.” Gibbs spoke softly, yet confidently. His eyes didn’t break from the rain outside, but something did seem to flash across his face. A sense of surrender. 

“Boss?” McGee said, trying to meet Gibbs’ eyes with his own but failing. 

“The storm,” he said, lifting a finger to the windows “it’s not going to get any nicer. I want you guys home before it gets worse.” 

“You sure? I-“ McGee tried to reason, in part because he knew there was still work to be done and in part because he didn’t want Gibbs to be alone. Something told him he wasn’t leaving with a certain blonde still upstairs. 

Cutting McGee off mid-sentence, and giving him no room to argue, he continued. “Go home to your kids, Tim.” Without missing a beat, Gibbs ripped his eyes away from the storm and met Ellie’s worried demeanour. His eyes softened immediately and his shoulders lowered ever so slightly. With a smirk and small nod he continued.  
“Go home to your plants, Bishop.” 

She smiled softly, the first one to do so all day. 

“And you muscle-head,” Gibbs exclaimed, directing his attention to Torres now. “Make sure she gets in alright and then go home to your weights or whatever.” He said, waving his hand around at the whatever part. 

The laughter that followed, mostly from Torres, broke most of the tension that had settled in the bullpen. “Yes sir.” replied Torres. 

It didn’t take long for the team to pack up their bags and head towards the elevator. McGee was first out of his chair and he made his way over to Gibbs. 

“Take care of yourself, Boss. Call if you need anything, okay?” 

Usually a head nod at the end of the day would say all of this, but some days it seemed necessary to lay it all out. Standing himself, Gibbs reached over his desk to grip Tim’s shoulder. 

Gibbs nodded. “Say hi to the twins and Delilah for me.”

Torres was next, crossing the space in-between their desks. 

“You know I’ll always look out for her.” Torres whispered, his head dropping slightly to his shoulder in hopes that it would cover his vulnerability. 

“I know Torres,” he said gripping his shoulder the same way he did Tim’s. “I know.” 

Torres let a smile creep across his face as he made his way towards Bishop’s desk. She was sliding on her coat as he approached. 

“I need a second,” she said, not making eye contact as she shoved the remaining papers on her desk into her bag. “I’ll meet you in the parking garage.” 

Without a word, Torres picked up her packed bag, slugged it around his shoulder and joined McGee by the elevator. 

“You heard what I said,” Gibbs grunted, seeing Bishop was sticking around. “Get going Bishop.” 

She didn’t waste anytime, zipping up her coat and making her away over to Gibbs’ desk. “You need her and she needs you, Gibbs. Don’t be an idiot okay?” 

The way her eyes went from the floor to his eyes and back to the floor again made it clear that she wasn’t sure how softly she should tread. 

“I’m worried about her.” Bishop added, knowing she needed to find some common ground. 

“Ellie,” Gibbs said more gently, watching her hands stop their fidgety movements at the sound of her name, “you know I’ll always look out for her.” 

Looking up from her place in front of his desk, her feet fully glued to the carpet, a small tear rolled down her cheek. Instantly, her hand shot up to rub it away. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, busing herself by brushing some dust off her pants, doing anything to try and pull herself back together, “emotions ran high this week.”

Gibbs just stood there, a sad smile resting on his face. 

“Okay, well I’ll see you on Monday.” said Ellie, putting on a brave face and a fake smile as she turned to leave. 

God, this whole “mom” thing was exhausting. Stepping around his desk quickly, it only took a stride or two for him to catch her wrist. Whipping around, her head was in Gibbs’ chest in an instant. Closing his arms around her back, he could feel her rigid frame begin to relax. It’s not that he didn’t like being gentle, it was that it exposed him to the emotional toll he put them through. He put them through it. 

Giving her a light squeeze and moving his head slightly, he pressed a light kiss to her forehead. Leaning down, he softly spoke into her ear. 

“Proud of you Bishop. Go home and get some rest.” 

Her head slowly lifted from his shoulder, a glimmer of relief finding refuge in her glossy eyes. She let go of the tight squeeze she wasn’t aware she had on his shoulders and took a step back. 

“Thanks, Gibbs.” 

And then she was gone. On her way to catch up with her crew. On her way home to safety. Gibbs sat down on the edge of his desk, fiddling with his thumbs as he thought about his next move. He wanted nothing more than to run up those bullpen steps, barge through her door, and rip her out of that stupid psychologist office. He wanted to hold her and comfort her and also yell at her for all the reckless things she had done this week. Sound familiar? Speaking of which, what would Jack do? She found herself in this very position with him plenty of times. Space. She would give him space. 

He busied himself with finishing the paperwork in front of him, anything to maintain distance between his heart and her’s. Longest hour of his life. He felt her presence before he even saw her. Glancing up to verify, his eyes traced the outline of her body. It was sad, broken, almost weak. Except none of those words truly fit her description, because even on the hardest of days, she was the strongest women he had ever met. He watched as she took each step slowly, her body somehow putting a restraint on all of the muscles that willed her to go forward. Her back was hunched, her feet were dragging, her hair was messy and tossed up on top of her head, and yet, through it all, she was wearing a baby blue blouse and a black pencil skirt. She still carried herself with as much grace as she could muster and it scared him by how much he wanted to tell her to stop. He wanted her to breakdown right there, on the bullpen steps, where he could pick all of the pieces up. If she walked out of this building alone, he knew he’d be too far away to be any good to her. 

“Sent the team home?” She hollered, her face displaying a tired smile. “I see you’re taking a page from my book.” 

So this was how it was going to be. Avoidance. 

“Yeah, it’s not worst book I’ve ever read.” He teased back, his eyes still sharply following her route into the bullpen. 

There was a pause as she arrived in front of him and although they usually did silence pretty well, Gibbs panicked to fill it. He caught her glance out the same windows he found very difficult to peel away from minutes earlier. 

“The storm is getting worse.” Gibbs stated simply. “You want a ride home?”

She shook her head as she turned her focus away from the rain droplets ravaging on the world outside. 

“Nah, I’m okay. I’m heading out now.”

“Got that part, Sloane.” Gibbs replied, nodding his head towards the bag she was holding. “Said’ you want a ride home?”

She eyes met his with a flash on anger. Anger? Not quite. She was too tired to be angry and too considerate of his offer to pick a fight. “And I said, I’m okay, Gibbs.” She countered, drawing out his name at the end. “Right now, I need to be by myself.” 

He understood that. In fact, he understood that feeling more than most. But he also understood that most times he didn’t truly want to be alone. She taught him that. 

“Maybe,” he said, getting another unhappy look sent his way, “but if you change your mind, call me, okay?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “I’ll do that.”

He expected a touch, a pat on the chest, or the feeling of her finger tracing the edge of his suit jacket. Something to remind him that there was still a Jack Sloane inside that limp body, but there was nothing. She was miles away from him, in her own little world right now, and he knew that. It didn’t change the fact that it hurt him. It hurt that he wasn’t taking her home. 

\- - - - - - - 

His cell phone was burning a hole through the back pocket of his only relatively clean pair of jeans. It’s probably why it startled him all the more when it started to ring. Dropping his sander in a full fluster, his hand shot behind him to retrieve the stupidly loud thing. The phone almost slipped through his palm as a result of how quickly he attempted to open it and bring it to his ear at once. 

“Jack?” He said, with more panic than he’d care to admit. 

“Yeah, hey Gibbs.” God she sounded exhausted. Thankfully she didn’t sound worried or anxious or even remotely in need. This brought his heart-rate down immensely. 

“Hey Jack.” he said more confidently, trying to regain some composure. “You okay?”

“Can’t sleep.” She said bluntly. The sigh that followed was firm and coated with irritation. He waited for her to continue but she didn’t. He wanted to push he but he couldn’t. Not when he knew that she wouldn’t do the same to him. So instead, he clicked the speakerphone button and placed his phone up on the belly of the boat, more specifically to the left of the spot he was originally sanding. Scooping up his previously thrown tool from off the ground, he began working at the patch of rough wood once more. 

“I like storms, but I didn’t use to. Use to hate ‘em. Mostly bein’ caught it ‘em. Didn’t like water on my face. Still don’t.” he explained, taking a deep breath before he continued, “I use to stay in my car in the parking lot when it would rain. I would wait for it to let up before I would go into the store, or work, or my house. Hell, the sound was even worse sometimes. Especially if I was under a mental roof. God, those rain pellets passed through the me like gun shots.” 

“What changed?” Jack asked, sounding relatively engaged besides the yawn that snuck out after her question. 

“I met you.” He confessed, with little to no recognizable fear. If only she could see his hands right now. 

“You barged through my front door with a smile and some sopping wet hair. You showed me that good things can come of the storms we are thrown into.” He took another deep breath. “And everyday Sloane, you remind me of the strength it takes to brave the storms that sometimes never leave.” 

“Gibbs.” Jack whispered. 

“The storm this week was heavy. I thought I lost you a couple times when the sky split open and all hell rained down. Maybe I did lose you. But I have you back now an’ I’m happy about that.”

There was silence on the line for a moment and honestly Gibbs was grateful for the opportunity to catch his breath. He wasn’t entirely sure where all of that had come from, but boy did he feel good saying it. 

“Storms are tiring, Gibbs.” she finally let out, refusing to let herself cave into his obvious ploy of being vulnerable. 

“You don’t have to face them alone.” hushed Gibbs. 

“I got to face this one on my own.” 

\- - - - - - - 

The line fell silent for a long time. It’s not the response Gibbs was expecting, considering the things he had just shared, but again, he understood. He understood that maybe this wasn’t the conversation to unpack. He understood that she was a smart woman and probably knew he was trying to pry out information in a run-around way. He understood that some problems are best faced alone, although it was always her who told him to not even face those things by himself. It had been nearly 30 minutes since she had last spoken and he had stopped himself from speaking at least 15 times. He was about to ask if she was still there when he heard a quiet whimper. His hand stilled on the boat. Maybe he had imagined it? Another whimper, this time a little louder. The sound of sheets ruffling followed. 

“Jack?” He called calmly through the phone. 

More whimpering. Then it was silent. A soft snore carried through the line and his shoulders relaxed. He placed his sander back on the boat when a faint murmur escaped her mouth. Picking the phone back up again to listen more closely, the whimpering began to pick up.

“Jack?” He repeated, this time a little louder. 

A shriek ripped through the phone. 

“Don’t. Stop. I don’t know where I am.” she said, her breathing beyond heavy. 

“Jack, it’s okay. You’re okay.” he asserted, his palms starting to sweat. 

More whimpers and rustling of sheets. She was thrashing in her bed. 

“Get away from me! Stop, get away!” She yelled, the sound of what he figured was her fists digging into her mattress followed. 

“Jack, I’m on my way.” He shouted in response. 

He didn’t think she heard him, but he didn’t care. Not when he was already up his basement stairs, phone clutched in his hand, running through his living room. Throwing his truck door open, the sound of the engine starting mixed with the whimpers that continued over the phone.

“Jack, I’m on my way.” he echoed. 

\- - - - - - - 

She had sweat through her tank top and shorts by the time she was able to break away from the nightmare. Shooting up from her bed, it felt as though a pound of bricks had just been flung at her chest. Each inhale was almost as painful as the coupled exhale and she had to squint to maintain her focus on her breathing. Her whole body was stiff and aching. Her shoulders were cuddled up with her ear lobes and her spine was shooting pain up to her neck. The scars that flowered her back were burning like they had been freshly torn open and exposed. It took every ounce of brain power she had left to remind herself of where she was. She wasn’t there anymore, she hadn’t been for a long time. The strong taste of sand mixed with blood that crept into her mouth was not helping her reach that conclusion any faster. Looking down at her hands, she traced the half moon shaped crescents that had scattered the skin around her wrists. Fingernail markings. The sweat that had pooled on her forehead was beginning to feel cool, despite her deeply flushed cheeks, and she moved a hand up into her hair to help peel away the strands that were plastered to her hot skin. God, she felt like a mess. Hunched over the side of her bed, feet dangling just inches above the floor, she warily glanced over at the alarm clock that sat patiently on her bedside table. 1:32am. That’s when it hit her. She had called Gibbs only about an hour ago. Reaching her hand back underneath her pillow she fished out her cellphone, which to her surprise was very much still on. The brightness threatened her weary, tear-stained eyes, and it took her a moment to realize her error. There on the screen showed a time stamp of one hour and sixteen minutes. He was still on the phone with her. 

\- - - - - - - 

Throwing his truck into park, a part of his brain couldn’t even recall how he had gotten to her place so quickly. He fumbled for his keys, knowing he still had one to her place from the time she asked him to water her plants while she was out of town for a conference. His thumb found the “J” engraving first and he was about to jump out of the drivers side door when his eye caught a little piece of red fabric. Throwing his head in the opposite direction, he reached over to the passenger seat, where he retrieved a hidden, red Marine Corps. hoodie. Tucking it under his arm, he was out of the truck and through her front door in a flash. 

Stepping quietly through the kitchen and up the stairs towards her bedroom, he began to realize how unbelievably scary this could all be for her. She’s quiet possibly still in the middle of an electrifying nightmare, in which her enemy is most likely a man or multiple men, and there his is, breaking into her own goddamn apartment. And being secretive about it none the less! Attempting to make a little more noise up the stairs, he called out for her.

“Jack?”

“Yeah, in here.” She called back, her voice hoarse and wavering. 

He shot up the last couple stairs, knees be damned, and pushed his way through her bedroom door, unable to wait much longer. He beelined around her queen sized bed to arrive in front of her limp body. His hand shot up to her cheek, feeling the sweat that coated it and the heat that radiated off of it. Her eyes wouldn’t fully meet his and he quickly became aware of how embarrassed she seemed. 

“Hey,” he said, smiling up at her, his sharp blue eyes softening as he tried to find a home in her caramel ones, “it’s okay.” 

“Yeah,” she said, the word sounding as though she had to spit it out, “I know. I’ve been here before.” Her breathing continued to rage on through her open mouth. 

She’s deflecting. He began moving the thumb that was resting on her cheek back and forth. Her eyes slowly rose to meet his. 

“Hi.” He said, just a little softer than his previous greeting. 

“Hi.” She said back, seeming to soften to the fact that his whole entire being was focused on her right now. She’d felt his protectiveness a million different times and in a million different ways, but it was always with the barrier of a personal wall being put up. Something for him to hide behind. But here he was, on his knees, panting softly in front of her, with his hand holding her head in a way that made her feel like he was scared she might drop it. 

“I’m okay.” She whispered, her chest beginning to rise and fall more normally.

“You reassuring me now, Sloane?’ he chuckled, continuing his thumb ministrations. 

Her eyes softly closed in response and they simply sat there for moment. Her on the edge of her bed, him kneeling on her hardwood floors, both of them sitting in a shared sense of security. 

“I brought you something.” he exclaimed, breaking the silence, and as result, her closed eyelids. She simply raised an eyebrow in response. 

Pulling the hoodie out from under his armpit, he melted in the warmth that filled her eyes. 

“Gimme.” she said, bringing her fingers up to trace the stitching of the “M” in Marine. 

He happily placed it in her lap and rose to give her some privacy. Her small hand caught the inside of his and he stopped still in a squatted position. 

“Don’t leave,” she pleaded gently, “I mean- you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

The smile that crept over his face was infectious. It light up the whole room in a way she truly needed in that moment. Placing his hands on her hips, his thumb and middle finger teased the bottom of her tank top. She mirrored a similar smile to his, but her pure exhaustion shone through. After lifting the tank top slowly up and over her head, his hands fell back down to grip her hips. 

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered, repeating that same mantra as he kissed her collar bone, behind her ear, and then right on the corner of her mouth. 

“Gibbs,” she muttered, her voice still weak, “I know what I look like right now. I feel ridiculous.” 

Bringing his lips right up to hers, he smirked. “Ridiculously beautiful.” 

He flinched at the punch he knew would be landing somewhere near his gut. Chuckling, he slid the hoodie over her head and watched as she took a deep breath in through the fabric. 

“Smell good?” he teased, softly stroking the small of her back. 

“Smells like safety.” she replied, her eyelashes dipping down to break the gaze they were holding. 

Before he could respond, she tried to cover up her confession. “Could you grab those sweatpants off the top of my dresser please?”

Rising up from the floor, he heard her stand up from her bed as he grabbed the pants. Grinning down at the writing on them, he realized they were also in fact his. 

“Where’d ya get these?” he questioned, waving them in front of her face, attempting to give her a hard time but failing miserably. 

“The fire isn’t always warm enough, Cowboy. Had to help myself.” 

It was nothing he didn’t already suspect and he loved her for it. 

Taking the pants from him she quickly slipped off the shorts that were still sticking to her thighs and pulled on her pair of big, black Gibbs sweats. His hands found her body once again, unable to keep his distance from her for long. Sure the mood in the room was lighter, but he knew she was still coming off one hell of a night after one hell of a week. Pulling her hips in close to his, he locked eyes with her. The rain was beginning to pick back up again outside and a low rumble of thunder had him tightening his grip just a little. 

“The storms don’t seem so bad when I’m with you.” She confessed, tucking her head under the shelter of his jawline. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, kissing her lightly on the crown of the head, “me neither.”

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism is welcome!! I'm sensitive but I promise I can take it :)


End file.
